I haven’t been getting about much over the last couple of days. Point the camera up at roughly a 45º angle from where I took yesterday’s shot, and you will catch our tenant spider in your viewfinder. I noticed today that she’s built up quite a larder for herself. Fine by me: at least all these critters aren’t eating the houseplants.
This is nothing whatsoever to do with today’s global media event, which I could not have spared the time to watch even if the desire had been there: declaring a national holiday at short notice is all well and good but it didn’t mean the jobs went away. Not least the new Mac, that is still in the process of being shaped to look as much like the old one as possible. Though no thanks to Apple, for taking away most of the useful ports on anything they shipped after about 2017. That’s another £64 to the Cupertino coffers for the umbilicus one now needs even to look at all that data sitting on the backup drive.
Flat land is at a premium in the valley, so round here, the recreation grounds are built high up: as with the Astleys, a set of one cricket and three football pitches above Sowerby Bridge. There are worse things to do on a Sunday morning.
I like it when you get these built-in labels for a picture. My job of description is done.
I would not normally go into Manchester as late as this, particularly not on a Friday. But my employers said in order to get my new hardware, hard-wired, I needed to pay homage at the Desk of Service. In person. So be it — I ultimately cared as little as the owner of these legs.
Of all the days over the two weeks since I effectively lost my access to photos, this was the dullest and least eventful. Getting a shot of C’s coat, left as she went to buy a drink, and somehow imagining that it looks like her shade or phantom, was about as exciting as it got. Sometimes Thursdays are like that. One cannot always get the hang of Thursdays.
I was just passing, honest. The crowd who were in the foyer of University Place next door were doubtless heading here shortly after I did so, ready to spoil the pristine purpleness of the carpet, at least. But I’m sure the posters were interesting.
I’m not convinced about all the technicalities of this shot but it was done with an extremely long zoom (x80 at least) and in that respect it’s pleasing enough. We don’t really pick up any of the details on the wings of the Cabbage White but let’s not get too ambitious, eh — at least, not with my kit.
A slightly familiar scene perhaps, whether generally or specifically to this location and club. But I don’t care. This take on it pleases me and although my lot (in orange) lost 2-0 this was the most pleasant thing about the day.
The drive home. The convenience of Abington service station on the M74, two and a half hours from Dundee, and usually three hours from home: unless the bastards close the M6, like they did this weekend. But that’s a different and undepicted story. I hope, at least, that this couple, also heading south, still felt affectionate once they got home.
Being 42 